by Tracy Ewens
He’d been so self-centered most of his life. It could be that acting wasn’t a calling at all but more the only way of life he knew. That was until he stepped backstage at the convention center. It was hard to believe it had only been a couple of months since Meg managed to plant herself firmly under his skin. If he kept this up, if he called her and asked to meet, what then? Was he going to make a life with her? Drop down to one knee and offer to buy her a house in the hills? Neither of them wanted that, did they?
No. It was his ego scrambling to bring her back to his couch. Things would end eventually; she’d simply beaten him to it. That’s what he was going with. That’s what was working in some weak, pathetic part of his brain at the moment he tossed his phone on the table.
She would be on assignment soon and he had a movie to make. They’d made no commitments to one another. This was clean. She’d closed it up for him. He should be in the shower and halfway to packing for his flight. There was no room service or awkward good-bye. Good.
West sank back down onto the couch, held the pillow to his face, and smelled coconut. As hard as he tried to force the time he’d spent with Meg into the mold of any other project or overnight guest, he couldn’t. They hadn’t even slept together. Closing his eyes and opening them when the sight of her tucked into his arms flooded his memory, he felt like he was losing his mind.
She’d left before he had a chance to decide what he was willing to give up. She wasn’t interested in anything more, and anyone with an inside view of his world wouldn’t blame her. Good. Fine. A clean break, that’s what he told himself as he stripped off his clothes and walked under the hot spray of the shower. More coconut oil.
Shit! He hoped like hell that stuff washed off.
Chapter Seventeen
They were running but wearing regular street clothes. He was holding her hand, but the frantic race of his heart pulsed all around her like one of those movie theaters with the reclining seats. Meg was trying to figure out what was wrong or where she and West were going in her dream when the Black Eyed Peas burst through her haze singing about their humps. Meg slapped the alarm clock.
Rolling to her back, Meg realized she wasn’t running and West wasn’t holding her hand. He’d been in LA for almost a week now and had moved on with his life. She hadn’t heard from him. It wasn’t fair that she expected to, she knew that. But it turned out women created stupid expectations and sometimes played stupid games when they were… whatever the hell it was she felt for West. After leaving his hotel, she’d been filled with empowerment. She’d cleaned her apartment, bought a toaster, and reaffirmed that she was not the kind of woman a man snuck up the back elevator. Ever.
Anna’s wedding was next weekend and Meg intended to spend this weekend relaxing. She still didn’t have a next assignment, but “something is right around the corner,” Amy assured her. Meg had resisted the urge to e-mail her boss at National Geographic under the guise of seeing how things were going.
She lived in San Francisco now. Her life was settled. She propped herself up and pulled her laptop in front of her. The heart foundation’s follow-up e-mail sat in her empty e-mail box with its little red flag calling to her. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do with their project. She’d been avoiding it and now she was running out of time. They’d already given her an extension and agreed to move her deadline to November. Surely the wedding would inspire her, or maybe she’d go through some of her first photographs and create a progression of images. Something would stick by then.
After quickly texting Anna to make sure she was still vertical and not obsessing over the weather report, Meg threw on some clothes and went for a hike. There was time for that now. The gym membership hadn’t worked out, but she had managed to find a variety of challenging hikes in the city that not only got her heart racing but fed her need for green trees. It wasn’t until the turnaround to head back down Strawberry Hill that she thought about him.
After the first anxiety-fueled day of getting back to her life, he slowly crept back into her thoughts until his face was there the moment she opened her eyes in the morning. Today she’d gone almost four hours before she’d wondered how he was doing, or allowed the memory of his lips on her body to grab her breath. Progress, she decided.
Things would be back to normal next week. She had to admit she didn’t miss being shuffled from one black sedan to another. And, she felt fantastic. More water, and the salad chop-shop around the corner from her apartment instead of the falafels. Last night she made soup. She was firmly in a routine, a life. The fact that her heart was still restless, still telling her she needed to do something, was irrelevant. The last time she went with her heart, she had gotten fourteen stitches. West was where he belonged, and so was she. Meg switched out her hiking boots for her tennis shoes at the base of the trail and decided to walk home. It was another sunny September day. Keep this up, Mother Nature, and Anna’s wedding was going to be perfect.
After finishing a smoothie and taking out her earbuds, Meg turned onto her street and stopped cold. The black Lincoln Town Car was parked outside her apartment and while it could be anyone’s car, she knew Vince was sitting in the driver’s seat. She decided to ignore it and her feelings, which worked as she climbed the steps and opened her door. And then she heard his voice.
“Meg.”
Closing her eyes, Meg gave herself a minute and spun to find a thinner, tanner version of Westin Drake.
“Incredibly unfair that in a week, you’ve managed to lose all that pizza weight and get a tan.” It was all she could think of to say. Her heart was clamoring and she wanted desperately to appear as though she were over their time together.
“I tried to call.” He closed the car door and stepped closer.
“Oh.” Meg pulled her phone from her pocket, mainly for something to do. “Sorry, I was hiking.”
“Glen Canyon?”
“No, Strawberry Hill.”
He stepped closer and she met his eyes. “I need to talk to you.”
“Okay.” Breathe, damn it, and don’t lock your knees.
“We can talk here, or I’m back at the Fairmont for the weekend.”
“You get the weekends off?”
He smiled like he’d missed talking with her. She knew the feeling.
“Yes.”
“That’s good. Well… um. Here is fine. What did you want to talk about?”
“This.” He gestured between the two of them.
Meg held her hand up. “I’m doing well. I bought a toaster.”
“Yeah?”
His eyes were their own heat source, so Meg looked away. “How are things with you?”
“Awful.”
Her chest thumped and Meg put her keys back in her pocket and walked to the car. Once again, she climbed into the backseat. This time, no one was pushing or rushing. She wanted to go, wanted to hear what he had to say.
West had envisioned the scene being way more complicated on the plane ride home. The second day on set, he knew his plan to let her cut and run wasn’t going to work. He needed her for as long as she’d have him and if that meant putting in some effort and making some choices, he was willing to do that.
The expression on Meg’s face when she saw him in front of her apartment was not encouraging, but now she was sitting next to him, waiting for an explanation he’d managed to misplace in the simple joy of seeing her again. Wondering if “I need you” sounded desperate, he opted to start slow.
“How was your hike?” Jesus Christ, there was slow and then there was lame.
Meg furrowed her brow, hands twisting in her lap. “What’s this about, West?”
“I wanted to see you.”
“Okay. I’m here and it’s nice to see you too.”
“Nice?”
“What do you want me to say? I liked spending time with you. Our lives are different.”
He reached up and closed the divider behind Vince.
“I’m going a little nuts here, Meg.” He sw
iped a hand across his face as if that could somehow get rid of the exhaustion of the past week. “You left me without a word.”
She was going to say something, but he held up his hand. Now that the words were finally flowing, he wanted to get this out.
“You were right to leave. Everything says we’re done working together. We’re different and we should get the hell away from one another, but I tried for a week and I can’t let go. You’re probably going to kill me. Screw everything up in my going-through-the-motions world, and I’m holding on to you like my stupid life depends on it.”
“What am I supposed to say to that?” She’d stopped wringing her hands.
“I have no idea, but I need you.”
He took her hand and she didn’t pull away. A good sign, he thought.
“You should have led with that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. Always lead with ‘I need you.’ It’s a knee weakener. Don’t you watch movies?”
“This is serious, Meg. I can’t sleep and now I take this fucking mental inventory while I’m lying in bed alone. Am I being the best man I can be? What should I be reading or where should I be shopping? It’s exhausting and when I finally close my eyes, I see you. Christ, I’m not used to this. I have a movie to make. One of my lines this week was ‘Babe, bring that sweet ass over here.’ How the hell am I supposed to deliver that with any authority when I’m asking the hotel restaurant if their salmon is farm raised? I’m ruined.”
A smile teased her lips. His first thought was to lean forward and pull her bottom lip between his teeth, but that was followed closely by the idea that she was mocking him. “You think this is funny?”
She shook her head. “I’m sure it is difficult. That line is, well, I imagine it’s… challenging to deliver on a good day. Who speaks like that? And while we are on the subject, which actress is your ‘babe’ this time?” She held up her hand. “On second thought, I don’t want to know. Oh God. Is there some nasty garage sex scene where you have strategic oil all over your bare chest?” She cringed.
West couldn’t help but laugh. It felt good to be home, back with her. She made him feel and want to be the “best version of himself,” as his mother frequently advised. He’d tried to stay away, do the smart thing, but he couldn’t figure out how to turn any of it off. He didn’t want to.
“My shirt is on,” he said, still laughing.
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“Open, but on.” He shrugged. “There might be some oil.”
West pulled her in and kissed her as if his life depended on it. He was no longer sure it didn’t.
He’d read this book on the Crimean War during his last year of college. Every other page had a word he didn’t know, so he kept a dictionary handy. It was insane, but when he was finished, he walked around for weeks feeling like the smartest man in the world.
Meg was a hell of a lot more fun than that book, but there was nothing easy about starting a relationship. He kept kissing her, hoping his brain would shut off.
After pulling up to the alley of the hotel, they went through the same procedure getting up to the suite. He drew her close as soon as she closed the door, and if she’d have him, he wasn’t letting go all weekend.
“Do we need to go over your lines?” she asked as her hands moved over his shoulders and laced behind his neck. “Maybe Towner could send up some dark eye shadow we could use for oil.”
“You’re hysterical. About finished?”
“Almost. Do you want to play lonely, frustrated car guy? Electric car, of course.” Her eyes were mischievous and so damn sexy, West locked the door while he could still breathe.
“This will change things,” Meg said as they stumbled toward the bedroom and began clawing at one another’s clothes.
He nodded, and while her mind needed to figure out what that nod meant, her body had moved on to wanting him no matter the answer. He must have sensed her thoughts because after he pulled off everything but the cotton camisole she had underneath her hiking clothes, he stilled. The fact that he was reining himself in to make sure she was there with him somehow made her want to throw him to the floor even more.
West ran a finger along her shoulder, stopped at the strap of her camisole, and gently pushed it away. Meg enjoyed sex, but she could not remember feeling sexier than she did outside his bedroom door with her sweaty clothes strewn on the floor.
How did he manage to make her feel something that usually eluded her with a single touch? His expression was almost desperate—as if she alone could give him what he needed.
“I never watched these scenes in your movies,” Meg said, once again unable to keep her thoughts to herself.
“Believe me, this has not been in any movie.” His lips skimmed her neck. She wanted to let go, but now that they were about to fall into bed, or onto the floor, she wasn’t sure she’d survive. She still had questions. Big shock. Turning wheels at the most inopportune times ran deep in the Jeffries family. Damn her parents for raising thinking daughters.
“I mean the love scenes. That may have been when I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“Knew that I might want to get naked with you.”
Laughter rumbled through his lips and hummed along her collarbone. West met her eyes. The heat in his gaze practically knocked her over.
“That was the moment, huh?”
“I guess. I didn’t want to see some other gorgeous woman having sex with you. If I didn’t want you in my bed, that wouldn’t have bothered me, right?”
She felt some of the tension slip away. Honesty was great that way.
“Those scenes are more in line with synchronized swimming than sex, Meg.”
“You know every actor says that, but you guys sure look like you’re having a good time.”
“Acting.” He went back to kissing her neck, but she pulled away so she could think, which was silly. Look at him, she all but yelled at herself.
West release a slow moan as his head fell to her shoulder. “I’m not that good of an actor, Meg. You’d know if I were acting with you. It’s my job. That’s the only way I can explain it. I make a living in make-believe, but I have my own life when the cameras are off.”
“Who’s the actress?”
“Which one?”
Meg almost snorted a laugh. She hadn’t thought of multiple. Wasn’t this a franchise?
“That didn’t sound good.” He looked at her. “Let’s bring this into your world.”
“Yeah, good luck with that.”
“When you take a picture of an animal, you connect with them through your camera, right?”
Meg nodded.
“But you’re not touching them.”
“Rarely.”
“You can see them, get a reaction, but you are you and they stay where they are. It’s understood.”
“I suppose it is.”
“Crystal Farr was in my last movie. She’s married to a stuntman and they have three little boys. There were two men in the shower with us.”
“The shower?”
West almost blushed. “Focus. Two men in the shower scene with us. Sean, he’s the lead camera man for all the installments. He’s well over six feet tall, hairy, and wears T-shirts with camera directions like ‘Look Over Here’ and ‘A Little to the Left.’”
Meg chuckled.
“He’s a good guy. You would like him. He was in there with us during what moviegoers went on to vote ‘the hottest love scene of 2016.’ In fact, I remember him joking that my wet ass cheek soaked his jeans when he went in for a close-up.”
“You don’t need to explain.”
“No, I do.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. Meg felt naïve and more vulnerable than she’d ever been in her life. “It’s a weird way to make a living. Especially the shit I do.”
“It’s not shit.”
“Aw, look at you. Did you want to join the fan club?”
“There’s a fan club?”
“
I’m not helping myself here.” West rubbed his temple.
She was ruining the moment, but she couldn’t help it. He was right. It was weird and while she hadn’t watched the actual scenes, she’d seen pictures of him. Not the him she knew, but some other hot-as-hell guy. It was confusing.
“Yes. There’s a fan club. Yes, women think they know me. They don’t, and what I’m trying to say is the guy in the shower on-screen is not me. I don’t make love to women that way. I’m a horrible driver, ask my family. And if I didn’t have to project some image, I’d wear T-shirts for the rest of my life and probably have a beer gut. I get that you live in the real world and mine, is well… not that, but I am real, Meg. This”—he touched the side of her face—“is real.”
She moved closer. “But it is part of you, a part I’m not asking you to be ashamed of or downplay. You’re an actor and from what I saw, a good one. You’re right, that guy isn’t you. I’m a little intimidated, I suppose. Not by the pretend sex with women in front of the camera.”
“Then what is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s kind of ironic. I photograph beautiful creatures all the time, but I’m at a safe distance. Like you said, they stay in their world and I return to mine. Touching you, having you touch me breaks that fourth wall a bit, you know?”
“Dear God, please take me to bed.” He rested his forehead on hers.
She laughed.
“We can put the fourth wall back up if you need that, but I want you and I’m not sure how else to get us through that door and onto that bed.”
